#does Pen being supernatural

[occamstfs]

Ni Hao!NYC

Morally conflicted journalist puts off questions of ethics until it's just too late. Finally assigned to put his name next inflammatory content Sam finds himself more than appreciating Chinese culture.

Various white to Asian Muscle growth and racial change ahead!

Like many, I saw the final pictures on twitter and had to do something with them haha! Ended up with a piece just a tad different than usual! Hope you all enjoy! -Occam

Samuel Johnston knew he worked for a rag but as long as the checks cashed he could afford to mute his conscience. They made money not from sales so much as some rightwing think tank who wants their views affirmed in any way they can get it. So he lays low and pens little puff pieces, avoiding anything too controversial and introduces himself as an accountant to anyone he cares enough to lie to.

He’s quite adept at staying out of sight and mind when it comes to the doling out of any especially charged or problematic issues. Making sure to bury his own work any chance he gets, even using a pen name in case someone accidentally stumbles on his writing. It’s gone well enough so far he thinks! Sam tells himself that really working for NY:Red isn’t that bad, surely it’s even good that he’s got the job rather than anyone who believes the shit they write. Right?

No job is without its problems, he tells himself. So far he’s done a commendable job keeping his nose down with an almost supernatural ability to duck away from bigwigs or management. That is until now as he’s summoned by name to his boss’ side. His proficiency at staying off the radar of management has kept him from a one on one with the man in charge for some time, but now he is sitting on the top floor outside of Mr. Howard’s office, surely waiting to be assigned some horrible project.

“Come in!” Sam hears the surly man shout before promptly stepping into the gaudy office. He’s immediately taken aback as somehow the editor looks almost younger than he does in the many pictures Sam has seen. Sam hides his shock at the man’s jet black hair as well as he hides the general fear and disdain that begins to send adrenaline pumping towards his mind. Mr. Howard doesn't notice at least, getting straight to business, “I can tell from yer writing that ya like the city Sam, can I call ya Sam?”

Samuel opens his mouth to reply but the chief just continues on, “Anyway I love all yer little toilet paper stories but how do ya wanna write with the big leagues?” This time Samuel stays strong and gets a word in before being steamrolled again, “Actually I-” “I’m puttin’ you on the most important case we have Sam. Surely ya’ve noticed all this, what's da word, influx? Invasion? Bah. All the Asian shit that’s startin’ ta creep in on our city’s culture!” Samuel makes an awkward face as despite knowingly working for the racist, it’s different to hear the words out loud.

He holds his tongue out of shock or fear and his boss continues on his diatribe, “The last couple a schmucks I had on the beat just up’n left me high and dry can ya believe it! Old friends I thought!” He grumbles as he scratches his chin, moving away his hand it seems his beard thinned? He shakes his head in irritation and Sam would swear he saw his jowls tighten and wrinkles smooth over. “Anyway kid. Go out and do some prelim research. Have something on my desk by Friday or yer out just like those galoots!” Samuel stands for a second unsure if he’s allowed to leave before his boss looks up to glare with eyes Sam would’ve sworn were blue when he walked in.

Sam rushes out the door and to the elevator, riding it back to his floor, debating between writing a preemptive resignation or keeping mum and keeping on payroll for one last week. Profiteering from a culture war he may be but he’s not about to regurgitate genuinely racist talking points. He taps his foot impatiently as he thinks about just how cushy this gig is though. “Fuck!” He decides to call the only other confirmed decent human being he knows here, his friend Nick who works in the fashion dept.

The two go to grab coffee at a chain next door, Sam tries not to notice how they’ve started selling Vietnamese iced coffee. “Fuck man I can’t do it! Literally just one conversation alone with Howard was a wake up call.” Nick smiles like he has no problems with working for the dirtiest rag in the city, “Chill out Sam. Huward had my manager on the same beat and he, uh, Hidaka said that is said to just look busy for a bit and we won’t need to worry about all this racist shit anymore.” Sam squints his eyes at his friend, he’s not usually so easy breezy about work. He also racks his brain trying to figure out who Hidaka could possibly be. That can’t be his boss. No way Howard would let someone not white lead a department.

Seeing Sam lost in thought Nick reaches out and grabs his hand in a way Sam couldn’t imagine him doing before this second. In fact as the second drags on he stares down in the hand in shock, feeling the warm hand squeeze his forearm. He looks up to his friend’s face searching for any clue to the cause of this odd behavior. Sam smiles awkwardly and half-jokes “Hah hah, uh- Who are you and what’d you do with Nick… Hah.” Nick bursts out laughing, patting him on the arm jovially and leaving a hand larger than Sam remembers resting on his own. “Hidaka-san just showed me how to worry less about this job un?”

Sam inspects him closely for anything amiss, it looks like he’s picked up a bit of a tan? His hair is messier than usual and definitely a little darker, his skin is alluringly smooth and Sam can feel the heat his body is generating despite sitting across from him. Looking at his clothes Sam finds another surprise, his shirt almost looks strained! As if Nick has been hitting the gym for sometime, maybe it’s just been a while since he’s seen his friend in person? 

Assuaged in the slightest, Sam ignores the glowering red flags and follows this lede, “Woah Nick have you been working out?” Nick blushes and Sam at the very least sees his friend is as shy as ever. He goes to scratch the back of his head straining his shirt almost to its ripping point as he responds, “Ah a little haha! どうぞ(please) don’t you worry about me. Since you have no desire to write the article, why don’t you go ahead and check out the little Asian market down the street for fun? It was quite a good time when Hidaka-san brought me earlier this week!”

Sam awkwardly smiles as he wonders why on Earth Sam is suddenly referring to his boss like this, it’s almost like he’s performatively speaking Japanese. Taking a second to pause Sam looks at the haircut as hands unseen style it into something fashionable he puts two and two together. Thinking to himself, ah! Nick must just be a weeb! Tension disappears from his body with a sigh of relief as he wonders how he didn’t notice before now. He gets up to follow his friend’s advice, what better way to stick it to the man than support the people he aims to malign right?

He bucks up and grabs a Vietnamese iced coffee for the road, tossing a “Sayonara,” at Nick with a wink to which he perks up and slightly bows. Man, how did he not notice before Sam thinks yet again. Blissfully unaware, leaving just as kanji symbols appear on Nick’s keyboard and his friend responds to an email in a language he didn’t know this morning. Blue eyes growing coal dark as his tanned, increasingly muscular arms tap away at the keyboard.

Sam spends the bulk of his day at the little Asian street fair and has an absolute blast. Any residual stains on his mind from his unpleasant morning absolutely fade away as he goes from booth to booth sampling cuisine and chatting with diasporic cultures the world over. Time flies as he goes into journalist mode and basically interviews first gen Chinese immigrants about their time in the city. He finds himself beyond immersed in the conversation, continuing to learn from the couple as the tables around them begin to pack up for the day. 

He offers to help the older couple pack up and they happily take the aid, striking him bashful as they talk of what a sweet young man he is. “Wa! 哇强 (strong) Too!” The wife chuckles as she jokingly feels his less than impressive arms. He was having a better time at this little fair than he ever could’ve imagined, enough so that he thinks about going to stick it to Huaward then and there. Huaward? Whatever. His mind slightly off put by whatever that was, in an uncharacteristic act of transparency, Sam lets it slip that he works for NY:Red. The expressions on the kind couple’s faces immediately sour and Sam is quite shocked that they even know what the paper is.

There is a glint in the husband’s eyes as he starts to motion Sam away from any further aid, “谢谢 (Thank you) for your help, Sam. There have been a few, hm, bad men wandering around from that paper and I uh-” He looks around his table and grabs some miijiu they hadn’t put away yet. His wife nods, her face somewhere between rueful and hopeful as she watches her husband offer Sam the glass. “Again, 谢谢, er thank you for your help young man, enjoy this for the road 好的? (Yeah?)” The two turn to each other and begin talking to each other in mandarin alone and Sam takes the hint.

Kicking himself that he fumbled the capstone on such a pleasant afternoon, though finding solace in the rice wine he’s walking away with. He is blissfully unaware as the couple watch him drink and head down the street debating if everyone from that paper really is an asshole. Grimacing as they think about the vitriol spewed at them by NY:Red readers they decide they had no other recourse. Pleasant as he seemed Sam was consciously working on the side of hate and that could not be simply overlooked.

Sam quite enjoyed the rice wine the couple left him with, it immediately smooths over any lasting regret or concern about his interaction with the couple. They don’t know anything about him! He’s nothing like his other coworkers. It feels as if he’s had far more to drink than the small container they left him with should allow, but every time he looks down there always seems to be more mijiu to entice him. It would be impolite not to finish their gift he thinks; his confident stride quickly shifting to a stumble as he wanders home. 

His phone goes off as he gets an email from his boss, Mr. Huang?  Can’t be right. He squints at the email, deciding he must really have overdone it on the mijiu and stuffing his phone back in his pocket. Beyond the obvious difficulties in ambulation being drunk, Sam is unable to notice as his proportions slowly begin to shift. His ever-so lanky body begins to feel dull and heavy as the warmth of the wine fills his chest to capacity and then some as he leans against his apartment door, wiping his feet on an unfamiliar doormat. 

He kicks his shoes off by the door on some new instinct and immediately goes to collapse on the couch. His small sofa creaking as he puts more than his usual dead weight on it. His legs that usually hang off the end lengthen even further as his thighs grow meatier. Pecs press into the cushions as he snores. He is swiftly ushered into an unfamiliar dreamscape, the jubilee of the fair and the bewildering amount of wine he drank produce a vivid carnival of culture in his subconscious.

He sees the old couple at their stand and begins to speak with them in their mother tongue, seeing the delight as a load is taken off their shoulders. His dreamself seamlessly conversing with a fluency unearned. Sam stirs in the waking world as his mind existentially changes to match his morphing body. His blond hair grows thin and longer as its tint stains darker. Twitching in REM the green eyes that he prides himself on speckle with brown before they are entirely overtaken, becoming a rich cacao like the thick eyebrows framing them.

The discomfort of a new language forcing itself into this memory begins to wane as he prides himself on how fluent he is in both Chinese and English. His hand goes to scratch his pecs and he smirks in his sleep as they pulse larger, knowing pride is not the only thing surging within him. At the edges of his mind he feels the memory of learning a language, words written on a blackboard in chalk, English and Chinese both. For the life of him he cannot recall which of the two he’s learning second. An alarm set on his phone blares and he jolts awake to get ready for work.

Throwing on a shirt, Sam freezes as he sees his reflection. Hundreds of little questions seize his mind, those aren’t his eyes are they? Did he dye his hair last night? Are those abs? God his arms look good don’t they!? As they race through his mind and grow rampant they fixate on how attractive he suddenly feels. Rubbing his pecs and feeling them bounce he cries out to himself, “该死！Uhhh, Damn I look good!” He poses in the mirror and takes in every new angle of his powerful body. Taking note as his body hair seems thinner, and decidedly darker wherever it remains. He looks close at his pit seeing his once dense bush of curly hair thin out and straighten, before the memory of even having dense body hair is washed from his mind.

His phone goes off again and his work is immediately brought to the forefront of his mind. “Fuck I didn’t read Huang’s message!” He finds email after email from his boss, only the first few mention the wretched assignment they last talked about. Sam’s eyes widen as he continues to skim through the emails as the topic lines quickly show some drastic re-prioritization from his boss. Only then does he realize that he’s been reading his boss’ name as Huang. His boss is white. Rather his boss’ whole identity is based around being white! Huang isn’t, right? Incredibly he clicks the last email, subject line Vacation, and is immediately greeted with a mouth watering picture of a powerful man. Everything comes to a stop as he can’t help but gawk at this man’s body.

Ni Hao Sanuel- take the day off shi de? Still only half dressed Sam balks at just how bizarre this is, rereading the name Sanuel he is thrown for a loop as his mind reconfigures this. Tearing his eyes from the man’s torso he finally looks at the cocky face and sees a thread he recognizes,  “天啊! (Holy Shit!) That’s Mr. Huang!” He shuts his mouth before he drools like a dog at his boss’ arms. God, this is unlike him though right? He tries to dig through his memories of the editor in chief as the caustic racist he was yesterday, but with each uncovered the image of Huang changes as this dreamboat playboy overrides more of what was.

Sanuel readies to just stay in for this day of assigned vacation before he gets another notification, this time from his friend, Nobu? An image of Nick flashes through his mind, a handprint burns on his arm, and the taste of Vietnamese coffee dances on his lips. “Meet me on the boardwalk うん？” Sanuel rolls his eyes at his friend tacking on Japanese like that, willing his mind not to think about how his friend’s contact ID now says Nobu. Must be one of those, uh, his own thoughts trail off as he successfully abandons concern to head to meet his friend.

Nearing the meeting spot he looks for his usually cleancut friend, the only body present however is a massive Japanese man awkwardly flexing at himself in a reflective surface. Sanuel shyly speaks up, “Ni Ha-, uh Hey? Have you seen a guy named Nick around here?” The apparent bodybuilder beams and goes to engulf Sanuel in a hug shouting, “Oi! Shan! took ya long enough!” His eye twitches hearing the name, as this man effortlessly lifts him off his feet in a hug far too intimate for colleagues, and certainly from whoever this stranger is!

Shan pushes against the massive man, his body heat broiling him on this already warm day. He strains his eyes looking at the man grabbing him and suddenly it hits him, “Nobu?” The man promptly lets him go and pats him on the back with a laugh he would’ve never expected to come from his sheepish friend in the fashion department. “Wanna go have some ice cream or something Shan?” He feels the need to push back against his friend calling him Shan but as he hears it a second time he can’t recognize the names as anything but his own.

Shan pauses as he sees Nobu stop to chat with some Japanese tourists and something about the picture doesn’t sit right. God it’s that talk with Huang getting him all worked up again that,uh, racist? He clutches his head as contradictions between his past and present collide in his head and he slams his eyes shut as he cannot determine what is true about his current reality. Shan falls to the ground with a deep thud, slightly hyperventilating, his body grows larger as he takes deep breaths from the stress.

Hearing him collapse Nobu runs over to help him up, this time with more effort as his friend’s comatose body continues to put on muscle and grow heavier. Still, having the impressive figure he does, Nobu rather easily gets him on a bench and sits next to him, “クソ野郎？(Fuck dude?) You alright?” Shan slowly nods as his friend throws an arm around him. Looking down at his own arms as they pulse with muscle, he feels his eyes strain as the structure of his face begins to change.

Shan's jawline sharpens and his skin smooths. Stubble that has been a cornerstone of hiding his facial blemishes vacates as his hair stains black and flops longer. He feels clarity grace his mind as he stares at large hands on the ends of pale, hairless, muscular arms and he wonders if he is even himself.

He voices these concerns to Nobu who just laughs them off. “Hah! Of course dude, same Shan I’ve always known!” “那- that’s not my name Nobu.” His friend grins shyly in concern for his friend's mind. “It can't be my name. I’m-” grimacing before he continues as it takes everything in his power to speak against the realities in front of him. Memories of a world quite far away, moving to New York long ago, the youngest in a family of Chinese immigrants, “I’m white aren’t I Nobu?” 

Nobu can’t help but laugh again at the beyond bizarre statement. He jokes about Shan hitting his head when he fell. “You’re the most 2nd Gen Chinese わるがき(brat) I know bro! Imma go get us some ice cream while you chill out.” Shan stares at his friend as he abandons him, feeling his eyes tighten as they shift into the monolid eyes that his memories swear he’s always had.

Shan retreats into his mind racing against his changing memories to find a pillar of truth to grasp on. He sees himself at the gym with Nobu, his black mop of hair flicking sweat into the air as he poses with his bro. He sees just yesterday at the Asian fair, helping an elderly couple pack up their table, twitching as he would’ve sworn that went differently. He remembers sitting at the office getting no work done as he plays on his phone, 是的！that’s it! His job. There’s something there, if only he can remember what the problem was there.

He sees Nobu begin walking back with sweet treats, Nobu works at the paper too. Oh 呃/Duh! He smirks as he goes for his wallet to grab a business card. His eyes see the obnoxious red logo he knows before they read text that will send him irrevocably forward, Shun Jiang - Ni Hao!NYC. His body fills with warmth like a machine overworking as his mind races with information about his new reality. Sweat drips from his hair as he can no longer even struggle to recall his claimed existence as a bystander at the vile paper they produced. His brown eyes steep to a dark black as they glaze over.

“Shan-baka! Here’s a popsicle!” Nobu shouts as he returns to his overheated friend who immediately bursts from his stupor. “混蛋!(Asshole!) It’s Shun- thought we were close!” Nobe smirks as he starts to eat his own ice cream. Unable to recall anything too in depth he feels a pause as he wonders what his Japanese friend is doing working for a Chinese newspaper, before he answers it himself. Clearly his subconscious is more at place in whatever new reality he faces. Their paper is for all NYC’s Asian immigrants. Nobu works writing, or more often modeling, for Konnichiwa!NYC! Huang really was a genius for the idea.

Shun smiles, thinking fondly of his boss as he enjoys the short break from the summer heat that Nobu brought him. Back at the headquarters of their paper everything shifts from the rag it was and into a paper connecting the disparate Asian immigrants of the city, printed in any language they can find translators for, Ni Hao, Konnichiwa, Annyeonghaseyo, Namaste!NYC. Each day striving for a better, more inclusive New York City. Shun beams with his new face, no longer burdened with the just concern of his peddling vitriol, instead possessed with a desire to spread his culture far and wide.

———————————————————————————

As I was writing I remembered a similar series by the now gone Dumb-and-Jocked!

If interested do check out Horizon Zero: One, Two, and Three for quite a different take on a journalism themed Racial Change!

[socialistexan]

One of the most common complaints I hear from Doctor Who "fans" recently besides - or usually in conjunction with - "It's Too Woke" (nevermind that the show always had been progressively-minded) is that, "well this new Doctor Who don't feel like Doctor Who"

And, like, it's such an absurd statement to make. How can a show that has been so drastically different over the course of 60 years

Like, the 3rd Doctor era felt completely than the 1st and 2nd Doctor, it was a distinctly different show even beyond being in color. The 4th Doctor arguably 3-4 distinct different eras within his own run. 7's last two seasons were so different in look and feel and pacing, so much so that it fits in better with the 2005 revival than it does something made even the year before with the same actors. 11 was a huge stylistic break from 9 and 10, and even 12 felt different.

Hell, this is a show where there is a tradition of having stories that are essentially "Doctor Who Does Frankenstein" (Brain of Morbius) or "Doctor Who Through the Looking Glass" (Warriors' Gate)

Should it feel like a Hinchcliffe gothic story like Pyramids of Mars? Or a Hulke-penned space opera like Frontier in Space? How about a goofy, campy scifi romp like The Chase? Maybe a heavy political allegory like The Green Death or Day of the Daleks? Or a supernatural surrealist story like Ghost Light or the Daemons?

So which one is the "correct" Doctor Who Feel. There isn't one. There's a spirit to the show, sure, but the look, feel, and style of the show changes with the times.

Really the only times where it "doesn't feel like Doctor Who" is when the show isn't being progressive or staying true to it's anti-fascist, enviomentalist, and frankly anti-capitalist roots.

If you don't like the show anymore, you don't like the show, that's fine, but the show is what it always has been.

[ziekkfreak2-0]

Serial Designation J -> Julie

This bitch literally the entire reason I made this AU HAHAHAHA. Rambling below.

🖋️ Shortened name for "Juliet", as in Romeo and Juliet. Do you sense the doomed yuri.

JULIE:

🖋️ Swears in school terminology.

🖋️ Precocious, popular, and has a supernatural understanding of doors.

🖋️ Obsessed with being a perfect student, hence why she follows the dress code exactly.

🖋️ Used to cover up her freckles. However, after Tessa remarked how she was self conscious about her own freckles, Julie decided to stop.

🖋️ Still bullies Nexus, but does care enough to not let him die. After all, they can't regenerate or come back as clones like the DDs.

🖋️ Hoards pens and school supplies like a dragon building their nest. If you lose a pen, you will never find it again.

🖋️ Serial-In-Class-Doodler, but is both surprisingly good at it and still has remarkable grades.

🖋️ Defacto choice for leader, and abuses this power.

🖋️ Still dies in episode 1. Skill issue, tbh.

🔺 Series opens with a Group Project on a word problem about buying watermelons. Julie did all the research, Virtue did the slides, and Nexus read the presentation.

RELATED LORE BITS:

🔺 There was barely any communication about the project, though, and Nexus based his presentation solely off of Virtue's slides... All of which were about the DDs.

🔺 Nexus took the opportunity to talk about how they can befriend the murderous robots beyond the steel doors. Neither Julie or Virtue were happy with this.

🔺 Their remediation assignment is to justify how the DDs can be befriended. Which the gang have to venture outside for.

AU INTRO POST:

[moirindeclermont]

5+ things I love about Penelope Bridgerton

(if you want to ask for a specific 5+ things I love go to my ask here - you can ask about Bridgerton, IWTV, Buffy or Supernatural)

1) Call me basic, but I love a smart character. Pen is witty and quick with her words. She has a sharp tongue and she puns. She made an entire business on her own, at 17 years old, and she maintain it for 3 seasons. She played the equivalent of a game of chess with the Queen herself and more than once, she won.

2) She loves deeply and fearlessly. She has a fierce instinct of protection for those she loves, and while that instinct can cause trouble, when it comes to Eloise or Colin she does what she does out of protection. That doesn't mean she doesn't make mistakes. She does. And often, when she's mad, she says or write stuff she doesn't mean. But I've never found her cruel for the pleasure of it.

3) She loves being intimate with Colin. For a woman that was deeply inexperienced, when she gets there she is enthusiastic about it, asks for guidance, etc. She is a wonder to look at, so open and uninhibited. I feel much like Colin, watching her is half of my personal pleasure in those moments.

4) She has the courage to change. When she realizes she is stuck, she looks at the situation and if she has to change and adapt, she does. It's not an easy thing to do at all. She truly embrace change at every new experience.

5) She allows people space. She does these with both Colin and Eloise. She knows they are hurt and, while she miss them and wants to make peace, she recognize they need to do so at their own pace.

6) She learns to use her power. It's not just gossip, as she tells Eloise. It's more than that and she recognize she can use the power the Ton itself gave her for making positive change. She has a purpose and dreams of her own and a husband and that's such a powerful message.

7) She learns to do everything on her own AND then she learns she doesn't have to. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Learning to trust other people will have your back and help you? I'm in awe of this woman.

8) This was a lot more difficult to write than Colin's. Because I saw so may things of Pen in me, that reading this and realizing I'm also some of this things is quite a challenge to grasp. But that's also another reason why I love her. She makes me feel seen.

[aziraphales-library]

Love you guys! You're doing amazing work! :)

Do you have any good fics where Crowley is high ranking in hell/lord of hell or Satan?

Also I'd recommend The Mourning Star by MaterialMortal to anyone looking for something like that, it's my favourite that I've found myself.

Thanks! We have #duke of hell crowley and #crowley is satan tags, so do check those out! Here are some more to add...

Heaven meets Hell by MikaFromHell (E)

The Supreme Archangel Aziraphale visits the Prince of Hell. ... "This was fun," Crowley said, finding the unfinished whisky glass on the bedside table. He sipped from it once and then got up from the bed. "We should repeat it some time," he added, squeezing himself into his tight leather trousers. "We shall," Aziraphale replied, following every movement of the demon with his gaze from the bed. Crowley walked to the couch to retrieve his t-shirt from the floor. "Feel free to enter my kingdom again whenever you want, Supreme Archangel," Crowley said, looking back at the blonde over his shoulder. "We can discuss diplomatic issues anytime you want," he winked.

Stockholm's Other Syndrome by WaitingToBeBroken (T)

Grand Duke of Hell Crowley kidnaps Supreme Archangel Aziraphale so he can finally do all those vile, nasty things he has always wanted to do to him. Like feed him sushi or force him to take a walk in the park. Hold his hand so he doesn't escape. Truly disgusting things.

Serpent's Requiem by midnightdragons (G)

Aziraphale stopped, his hand stilling, the pen hovering over the crumpled, demonic-energy-infused paper. He froze. His breath that he didn't need stuttered in his lungs, choking up his throat as his mouth went dry and his face drained of color, leaving him pale. He placed down the pen, and pressed his hand over his mouth, and felt very, very ill, because he recognized the serpentine signature at the bottom of the page, aggressively scrawled and etched in with supernatural occult power that sparked and hissed.

Supreme Archangel Aziraphale recognizes a certain demon's signature when approving a contract for the new Duke of Hell.

Prelude to an Epic by Ginger_Cat (T)

Crowley pretty much loathes everything about being Grand Duke of Hell. He’d known he would. It wasn’t supposed to be about being Duke, him going back there. Doing Duke things. Not at all. It was supposed to be about Aziraphale.

What's in a name by Primroza (T)

Before the Fall the angel was called Lucifer. Years later, after the Fall, once humans reimagine and tell his story, they will call him Satan. But in this particular moment, as he is standing on the wall above Eden, he is simply called Crawly. *** Crowley is the King of Hell. But one small problem, Aziraphale does not know that. And Crowley is sure he can never tell him the truth without the angel rejecting him. Crowley can just hide the truth. It works for about six thousand years and then Crowley's son is about to end the World.

And the one you mentioned...

The Mourning Star by MaterialMortal (NR)

Back before the Creation of Man, before the Garden, there was the Fall. The Fall was lead by Lucifer, the First of the Fallen, God’s Favorite, King of Hell, and is destined to spawn the Destroyer of Mankind. Thinking back to these events, Crowley sighs. He was so productive back then. What happened? (Of course he knew what happened. A little angel happened. Was it in God’s Ineffable Plan that a measly Principality would one day have the Devil himself wrapped around his pinky finger?) (Perhaps so.)

- Mod D

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Malleus x Reader Drabble

I write Reader as female

Masterlist

You really should be paying attention to what Malleus was saying, considering how considerate and enthusiastic he was. It was sweet of him, really, to offer you the seat next to him during break time when you offhandedly mentioned eating lunch alone in the library instead of at your usual table at the cafeteria because of Ace and Deuce’s shared detention - in fact, he even offered to help you with your Defense Magic essay. And what were you doing as a response to his kindness? Letting his words fade away as you observed how the sunlight did an exquisite job at highlighting his orphic beauty.

Despite being a creature of the night, a puissant being who can play with and control the nocturnal elements of his as easily and elegantly as he does his beloved violin, he looked just as ethereal under celestial rays as he does bathed in the colours of his domain.

You never really understood his cloak-and-dagger reputation, considering the fact that the same fairy whose name never failed to drain the blood from your schoolmates’ faces was also the one who’d pout childishly when Lilia would deny him his second box of ice cream or light up giddily whenever his Gao-Gao Dragon-kun would so much as move a pixel. Of course, you yourself felt the chill of intimidation slither up your spine when you saw the way he presented himself in public, from the way authority and might would adhere his form in every step he took, to the way resolution was laced in every word he spoke, to how he could rebuild an entire demolished building from crushed rubble to brand new in a blink of an eye. You were more than aware that the companion to your nighttime rendezvous was someone who should be respected and feared. 

But the strangest thing was - you never felt scared. Sure you had your moments of awe and outright reverence whenever his pure, unadulterated power was displayed, but you could never really feel anything other than that tempting allure that would tug you towards him, the tendrils of curiosity that made you want to know more about him. When you first met, you felt a kinship, a fondness to another lonely soul who felt out of place amongst their peers.

“Are you feeling well, child of man?” a deep velvety voice pulled you out of your reverie and you sheepishly noted how the page of your notebook was still mainly blank, your traitorous fingers having chosen to absentmindedly swirl your pen between them instead of jotting down what he was saying.

“Oh well I-,” you felt your face heat up at your obvious distracted mind, “I’m really sorry Tsunotarou, truly I - I guess I was just uh-”

“‘Away with the fairies’ is the correct term, I believe,” he gave you a fond smile.

“Well, yeah, I suppose,” you agree shamefully, completely embarrassed at how technically true his statement was and wishing that the ground would swallow you whole, “I am really sorry. You’re here doing me a huge favour and I’m not even paying attention. I guess - oh.”

Your still fiddling fingers had lost grip of your pen, letting it clatter against the marble floor and roll under the table.

“Sorry,” you were really getting more and more frazzled as the seconds went by, “let me just- ”

“Please, child of man, allow me,” and before you could even comprehend what was happening, the sixth foot supernatural dorm leader of Diasomnia had abandoned his seat and knelt down to retrieve your pen before holding it in front of you, a coy smile on his face, not making a single move to get up.

This nyctophilic fairy prince, whose entire existence is shrouded in fear and mystery, was kneeling before you in broad daylight, handing you your pen as if it was worth more than quadruple its weight in gold. Underneath the static in your head, you could hear the shocked exclamations of Grim and Sebek and Lilia’s ever suspicious snickering and you could feel the burning gazes of the entire cafeteria scalding against your frame. Dumbly, you simply took your pen back, all cerebral functions doing absolutely nothing - you couldn’t even remember how to breathe. 

Unaware, or unbothered, of the looks being thrown your way, Malleus sat back in his chair, just as regal and refined as he does everything else before turning to you with a secretive smile, “as we were, my dear. However, this time let’s try to keep your thoughts on me alone.”

[fanatical4creation]

INVERTED!Poppy!!!

Finally made her up, I was just putting it off and putting off designing her but then I took my pen, my new laptop and drew it, now look at her!!!

Alright let's start shall we?

Design:

"OMG FANATICAL WHY DOES POPPY LOOKS LIKE A FRISK-" Shhhhh, you need to calm down, i'll explain everything;

Alright, bare with me: The original Poppy mentions in an animation, that she's talking to her therapist, that people usually thinks she's a Chara, but she's none! And I think, I theorize, I suppose that the reason why she looks like a Chara is bc an Frisk was drawing her (you know her lore?), so supposing that the whole concept of Invertedverse is that the original universe Underswap, that Frisk who drew her is an Chara, so if the Frisk drew a Chara in the original, here the Frisk that is now a Chara would draw a Frisk....... so, that's the logic here.;

Even though Poppy is still not a Frisk nor a Chara, but I don't think I translated that into her design, maybe I'll redo it sometime.

Her clothings are intriguing. It's her original teenage/adult clothings but with some green and a purple cloak or cape, whatever that is. This cloak represents her importance inside OmegaTimeline, that reminds me;

View from back Ω:

Made it with wind because it's cool, plus, her silhouette is cool too

Story:

Core was the "ruler" of Omega Timeline, everyone would look for them when there was a problem and needed help, everybody trusted them, but they put Poppy on their place... Core is a very mischievous character, no one really knows why they put Poppy in charge.

Omega citizens theorize that the reason is because Core was lazy, or that they didn't like the attention, or maybe they wanted to focus fully on recruting people, even thought after Poppy got in charge Core was rarely seen interacting with people and also the numbers of new survivors to get to the OT decreased.

Poppy tries her best to help remain peace within Omega Timeline, even if it requires all of her energies, thought she could really use some help, she thinks that the reason why her parent is more absent while she was in charge was because they knew she could everything alone, and that she should do it.

She doesn't have many friends, and the old ones got far away because she's too busy working signing papers, solving problems, financing projects, etc, etc.

Character:

She suffers. That's the truth, she just needs a vacation and a hug from her girlfriend.

She doesn't like parties... just thought it was important to mention.

Poppy doesn't like her parent, almost hates them even, they seem so irresponsible, imature and a coward, after just letting their daughter in charge of a (practically) country in surprise, it's expected for her to feel that way

Poppy has to be the clueless character in the whole Invertedverse, the reason is that she's so busy at work, or too busy being tired, and she usually gets information on what's going on from Core, but Core have been very silent lately, wonder why...

She has the hobby of playing board games, dancing and origamis!

She likes to cook more for others than herself

Sometimes she would visit the Madame T's orphanage, mainly to see Cadence and her friends, but also to donate and all of that things famous ppl do in orphanages idk.

Even thought she does a lot of hard work sometimes she'd take credit over someone elses work unintentionally, i mean, she's kind of the president.

She can't lie, like literally, maybe it's just her morals, or maybe it's a supernatural force idk.

She also keeps taping her fingers in hard surfaces all the time, I think it's anxiety.

Oh yeah, her full name is still Poppy Marusina, but she can also be called Iris Marusina, or maybe I'll change that to her original name, idk

Poppy (c) fmsdraws

[casual-socks]

jon headcanons. jeadcanons?

-if he drops something and his back hurts too much he’ll just leave it there. the archival staff finds random pens everywhere all the time

-knows practical skills like sewing and knitting because his grandma thought that kind of thing was important to know. he can mend his own clothes

-can do the splits but cannot get up from the splits

-throughout the series hes owned at least 3 canes and lost all of them

-in mag 90 jon was wearing a cat hoodie georgie owned in high school and kept for some reason

-owns a night light he keeps in his office, purchased in season 4 when he started living there. was embarrassed until he noticed most of the rooms in the archives have night lights he didnt buy

-after mike crew he gets vertigo much more easily

-chronic headache haver

-people always, without fail, get him socks for christmas or his birthday. he loves it because he loses socks really easily

-^^ almost always wearing mis-matched socks

-he has his ears pierced, but in season 4 they closed up from the supernatural healing

-martin bought him cute office stationary for his birthday in season 1, he found it in season 4 and started keeping it on a shelf where he could see it

-the only reason he didnt take the admiral when him and georgie split up is because his flat didnt allow pets

-a lot of the things he had left of tim and sasha were destroyed in the flesh attack

-jon hides under his desk sometimes even though everyone knows he does that and he knows everyone knows he does that

-in season 4 jon bought new glasses even though he didnt really need them anymore

-always forgets he doesnt have to power through being sick and can in fact take medication

[ofoceansandtombsanew]

23:53 ー INOUE ORIHIME. but maybe i'm a fool to feel the way i do but, i will play the fool forever just to be with you forever.

"honey, aren't you coming to bed?" orihime's soft and drowsy voice cuts through the sound of pen scratching against paper. the sound is a welcome interruption, as is the sight of her clothed in a pale blue robe as she yawns.

"i will soon," you promise vaguely. with how your eyes burn when you blink, however, you know you should put your pen down. in spite of that knowledge, your hand decides it is better to finish taking notes now while you're up than later. "i just want to finish this chapter first."

it's the wrong answer, you know from orihime's sigh.

her slippers slide across the wooden floor as she makes her way to where you sit at the dinner table. "you can finish it in the morning, can't you?" you don't fight it when two arms wrap around your shoulder, pulling you into her chest behind you.

"it'll be morning in 7 minutes," you offer with faux enthusiasm, looking up at where she stands behind you.

brown eyes look down at you accompanied by knitted eyebrows, unamused. she says your name in just as unamused a fashion to boot.

when you first met orihime, you thought her incapable of ever getting angry. you've since learned that isn't the case. that face is a warning of what's to come if you continue to fight against her concern.

"we really went from fighting hollows and arrancars to university and work," the two of you share a chuckle at your tired attempt at changing the subject. your one year of high school in japan had be rife with danger; fighting the supernatural and traveling between the realm of the living and that of souls. that certainly hadn't been on the itinerary when you signed up for being an exchange student. "talk about a downgrade. no wonder the shows always stop when the action does."

"i like this downgrade," your girlfriend giggles into the back of your head, arms holding you a bit tighter. in her arms, you find yourself agreeing with ease.

you sigh wistfully. "yeah, me too," the corner of your lips turn upwards.

when you had dinner at her lonesome apartment when you were 16, there was always a time when the laughs had to end. even the battles and the days at school you shared would eventually come to end when it was time to return to your home country.

deadlines.

deadlines, deadlines, deadlines.

now the deadlines are gone and you can stay in this apartment for as long as you like.

there are no return dates, not anymore.

you spent one year as an exchange student in a seemingly boring city in japan. now you are back in that city, a bit older, a bit wiser and certainly more in love with inoue orihime. perhaps she is certainly more in love with you too, if you are arrogant enough to allow yourself think it. it's in how silky burnt orange locks envelops you both like a curtain in this moment, hidden away from the world. how chocolate brown eyes look at you with unbridled affection.

no more deadlines.

"you should come to bed," orihime insists once again, smile tender.

"yes," you murmur, setting down your pen for the night. "i think i should."

[r0semultiverse]

Questions post-release of The Edge of Sleep

Is the dog okay? Did the dog also get possessed? Or are dogs exempt from sleep death and brain branding? The dog was in their cage for quite some hours, which may imply that dogs and potentially even other animals are immune to the beast.

Are possessed folks unable to die from blood loss or drowning so long as they have the mark of the beast?

Who else thinks the doctor isn’t actually dead (there were other doctors at the facility) and was suspiciously on-board with everything happening to Dave?

Is the doctor actually a host for the elephant (alternately just being influenced by it)? Yes, this is partially because his distorted voice in the sleep tube sounds the same as the beast, but the depictions of the beast in peoples dreams does get explained later as being different for everyone (probably based on environment).

Why was he trying to put the moves on Dave’s mom? Probably part of a manipulation tactic or he’s just weird and I’m overthinking his role in this.

What if this is all a dream and Dave is just stuck in one of those sleep pods still? We have yet to see a flashback where he’s a teenager of any sort which gives us a huge missing gap in his memories.

Another question relating to the previous ones is why did Dave see Matteo(?) and Katie(? or is that Linda?) in the sleep pod dream world place very briefly in the the trailer? EDIT: Okay so whoever that is next to Katie/Linda in the cut footage seems to be someone else who would succumb to or almost drink the beast juice (sorry, I didn't know what else to call it).

Are their IRL selves in on it? (this seems silly in hindsight, but I'm not deleting it)

ACTUALLY YEAH JUST IGNORE THESE TWO PREVIOUS ONES ONES, THIS WAS CUT TRAILER FOOTAGE, I WAS TIRED.

Is Dave in a coma and all of this has been one big dream fantasy he’s been in for a long time? If so, how long?

Much like the question of “is the dog important,” is the doctor’s memories when he was talking about his trauma important? Will that come up later given the talk of a season 2 for the original podcast?

Does the Elephant’s host bodies feel pain or is it zombie rules and they’re basically just drones that’ll keep going as long as they have some means to move around?

Do y’all think we’ll get a season 2? The series is pretty good as a stand alone thing imo that kinda lets you fill in the blanks, but I personally would like to see more in some capacity.

What did the dream people mean by “power?” Is Dave capable of the occult?

Does the Beast have access to its host bodies memories and motor skills? We see Katie’s body walking through the water. Could the beast hypothetically fly a plane if it got the right host body to do so? Could it control an entire military fleet?

What is the doctor’s connection to the supernatural happenings of this reality?

Was Markiplier the voice of the blue Modafalyst pill and the voice over of the ad that was playing on the TV in the hospital?

Was the doctor trying to get his loved ones back through the sleep pods like how Dave got that pen into reality from his dream?

How come all of the surviving main cast has had some sort of government or implied government-related job position? Was that intentional?

Each of the surviving main cast also has a double letter placement in their names too, intentional perhaps? This one is probably a reach, but I thought it was interesting!

Why did only one guy foam at the mouth when he "died?"

Why is there a difference between the pill colors in the trailer and in the final release of the show? We're the colors going to be swapped initially? Is it or was it maybe supposed to be a Matrix reference?

Also did Dave's mom seem a little too okay with what was going on at times? Does that have to do with the doctor trying to put the charm on her? Although having someone finally listen to your child's issues and have a clue about what's going on would put you in a vulnerable position, also single mom seemingly.

Who did Dr. Luis Castaneda lose and why did a dream person show up? Was that someone who left him to go live on Aristera for one purpose or another?

How many hours was Dave awake in total? So far 87 seems to be a close enough guess, somewhere in that area.

How are the dream people able to teleport into Mark's dream? How is the beast able to get into anyone's dream now that I think about it.

[tyquu]

i absolutely love your skybridger art!!! do you have any headcanons/how do you think the rest of the ghost crew would react to them?

WOAAGH!! Thank you!! That is a very big compliment coming from you!!

And man,, I do for sure have headcanons! Almost too many at this point cause the thing about skybridger not having canonically met yet is there are now an infinite number of universes where they meet in different ways. Depending on the universe (and who's alive), it could go a number of different ways!

But my current fave is Ezra does not get yeeted into wild space (or only goes missing for short amount of time) and is able to re-join the rebellion somewhere around the Luke is performing miracles era.

Hera would be over the moon that she has someone she can geek out to about space ships with over dinner (as well as super excited to see her son in a happy relationship). Zeb, Kallus and Sabine would get along pretty well with Luke too whenever they swing by. Chopper... Chopper gives them both an equal amount of shit, (deliberately but affectionately). He's doing the equivalent of a father intimidating his daughters date, but he's tormenting Ezra too for the fun of it.

Tbh when I think about this one, the reactions that really get me would be Ahsoka and Leia's. Both of them are having a kind of "what are the odds?" reaction but whilst Leia is thinking about how fun it is that her freaky supernatural childhood pen pal and newly discovered eldritch being brother have ended up together, Ahsoka is absolutely reeling from the fact she had to find out about Luke's entire existence from her part time nephew, who proudly introduced Luke Skywalker as his cute new boyfriend barley 0.3 seconds into her return from post Vader fight vacation.

[thefoxtherapist]

an exploration of fears

“So what are you afraid of?” Hannah looked at her older brother as he played his game. “That’s deep.” He responded, swearing under his breath when his character was killed. “I’m afraid of vampires.” Beth piped up from her phone on the bed. “You would be.” Josh snickered. “One too many dracula remakes. Terrifying.” Beth giggled. Hannah shook her head, her glasses going askew as she did so. The middle Washington sibling watched as the two did their own things. Moments like these were the best for them. Being in a room together, doing whatever, but bonding nonetheless. She pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“I’m afraid of being alone, isolation I guess?” She offered up. “Aw, Han. You won’t ever be alone!” Beth set her phone down to throw her arms around her sister. “You have us!” Hannah hugged her sister back. “Yeah exactly.” Josh leaned his head back against the bed, looking up at them with a smile on his face. “If it makes you feel better, I’m afraid of the dark.” His eyes were warm as he watched his younger sisters. “I am actually afraid of the supernatural, so I was technically telling the truth about vampires.” Beth teased. The three shot each other glances before breaking out into laughter that filled the home.

-

Josh looked at a framed photograph in his room, his siblings on either side of him, they were smiling at the camera. He missed them. His fingers trailed over their faces, he barely remembered what it was like to be so happy. He had begun to understand Hannah’s fears, now. He put the frame back, a sigh escaping his lips. Shaky fingers ran through his messy dark locks. The dark seemed a lot more welcoming now. Or was it failure he was feeling, possibly? The failure to be a big brother? He couldn’t tell what he was feeling, he was just feeling hurt and confused.

“Joshua!” His mother called from downstairs. “Time to go see Doctor Hill!” Her words made him cringe. Doctor Hill did nothing for him. He took another glance at the photograph. They must have been so scared. And he was too drunk to move. He hung his head, steadying himself against the dresser. If only he was there, if only he was awake. He was a failure, and he realised now, that he was afraid of himself. “Josh!” She called again. “I’m coming mom!” He opened his eyes again, holding back the tears that so often threatened to fall. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the door. 

“How are you feeling, Joshua?” Doctor Hill asked, his notebook in his lap already. “Fine. Same old.” Josh couldn’t pick an answer, really he never could. He was good at lying but Hill always seemed to see through him. “It’s been six months since your sisters passed, you’re here because you weren’t processing it well.” Doctor Hill’s way of speaking aggravated him, but Josh merely nodded his head. “If not processing well means trying to kill myself, than yes, I am not processing well.” Josh played with the hem of his shirt. “Mhm. And how have you been feeling since? It’s been a month, yes?” Doctor Hill wrote something down, the scratching of the pen scratching on his ears. “Like I said, I’m doing fine. Better.” Josh avoided the good doctor’s gaze. 

“I haven’t tried to kill myself since, I would say that’s progress.” Josh smiled and the doctor shook his head. “You have a particular sense of humour, Joshua.” Doctor Hill commented, crossing his legs as he looked at Josh. “Whatever helps me cope, isn’t that what you doctors say?” Josh raised an eyebrow and the doctor nodded. “Yes, that is true. How is your medication?” Josh shrugged in response to the question. “Does what it’s supposed to.” He responded. “Hm alright, can you elaborate?” Hill wrote something down. “I’m not actively suicidal anymore?” Josh kept his answers short, years of therapy has desensitized him to the doctor’s questions, they were routine. And this routine was the only structure in his life.

-

The anniversary of his sisters’ deaths was coming up. And in a month’s time the group would all be gathering at the lodge again. Josh stepped off the stool, looking up at the camera he had mounted to make sure it was in the right location. He waved at himself in the camera before turning to walk away. He returned to where he had set his gear up, hidden away in a secret location through a tunnel he had stumbled upon as a child. He flicked through all the cameras, ensuring they were in the perfect location. Once he was done he shut them off for the time being to preserve their battery life. He sat at the desk, picking up a recorder and thinking momentarily before turning it on speaking into it.

“No no.. That’s not right.” He sighed, turning the recorder off. He had to find a way to disguise his voice, they could not foil his plans. He spun in his chair for a few seconds, his head hanging over the back of it as he looked at the cracked and dirty ceiling. His thoughts trailed to his younger sisters. Being on this mountain, as cathartic as this prank may be, brought up old memories. He stopped spinning, his vision blurry as the room spun around him.

The isolation and loneliness settled into his bones. They should be here, pulling a prank with him. But instead he was alone. Three siblings turned into an only child. It wasn’t fair. His heart felt heavy and guarded, unwillingly locked behind a metal door. The kind of crippling loneliness you only hear of in movies. He wasn’t alone, he did have his friends, people who listened. But they simply don’t understand. They don’t know what it was like. Josh closed his eyes, a hand coming up to his head to ease the sudden onslaught headache. His bones were heavy, his lungs weak and tight. The aching sadness that afflicted him causing his heart to constrict momentarily. Loneliness could be crushing. 

Josh shook his head. He had work to do.

-

“Where are we going?! Let me go!” Josh struggled against the creature dragging him through the woods, his hands clawing at the bone thin elongated hand holding onto his jacket. His heart raced in his chest, thud, thud, Thud. His head hurt, as he grasped onto rocks, twigs, anything to try and dislodge himself, but his hands kept slipping through invisible barriers and make-believe saviours. His hands covered in cuts and bruises as he thrashed against the monster. The monster dragged him to a mine shaft, dropping him down. Wildly he tried to grab the rocks and dirt he was sliding down, but to no avail. His world went dark as he hit the bottom of the shaft.

The memories for the rest of the night were a blur as he shuddered cold and alone in the mine by himself, surrounded by blood and gore, the body of a strange man he had never met strung up from a meat hook. He rocked himself back and forth, his arms over his head. In the back of his mind, Beth’s voice echoed. “I am actually afraid of the supernatural, so I was technically telling the truth about vampires.” Her words grated on him as her soft kind voice distorted, becoming mocking. “Shut up. Shut up..” He tightened his grip on himself. He felt so small and so alone. 

And he was.

[witchofthesouls]

Deliciously fucked up way for Team Prime to find out about the supernatural: Have a fae show up in one of the kid's homes. False Artifact preying on Raf's baby/toddler siblings, a Pooka replacing the pet dog at Miko's, or a Kobold decides Jack's place is nice enough to stay. The kids have a feeling something is up but the bots think it's just nothing.

Until they find an old school packet with info that eeriely matches the signs in their respective home. Miko's Pooka Hunting goes a bit awry so Bulkhead ends up seeing her get chased outside the house by something that definitely isn't a dog. Raf barely got one sibling away from being eaten by a False Artifact. Arcee might've damaged the house to grab Jack as he accidentally spook a Kobold.

Cue concerned bot noises upon seeing the packets. I don't think they like the idea of children eating fae in their charges' homes.

Ahhh, this went in a different direction.

Warning: off-screen character death (age-related and car accident), dubcon/noncon body modifications, and underage drinking

Now the Darby household does have a Kobold. It's been following them (and the lineage) for a very long time. Generation after generation, parent to child as the unspoken agreement is held with family traditions, superstitions, and practices that have been ingrained into family lore.

If there's one thing June absolutely misses about her ex-husband, it's his family. While June hadn't cut ties with her own blood, her own kin (even her own parents) never spent time in one place for too long. They welcomed into their home. Treated her well with food and warmth and taught her their traditions as she married a son of theirs.

It's an unfortunate fact of life that time comes for all. Oma survived years of hardship by war and reconstruction, without her beloved husband, and the deaths of her own dwindling family, she died peacefully in her sleep during a visit to see a toddling Jack. His parents, though...

When the call came that his parents were killed in a massive pile-up on the freeway, their lives came crashing down.

Grief manifests in so many ways. June cherishes what was left behind. She uses the quilts and recipes and leaves out a portion of dinner for the 'spirit of the hearth.' Her husband, however, drowned himself inside the hospital; unable to come home and look at the reminders, refusing to do anything with it.

Their divorce comes and it's... amicable. The man who was once her husband stares back with a frozen heart, shrouded by his own grief, and he offers to leave them the house as well. June declines and searches for warmer shadows.

The house is sold. June and Jack move on, and the Kobold follows them.

June is a Darby child, and her son follows her as well. Memories are cherished by them. (Faithfully. Hungrily.) And June dutifully attends to her once-husband's family's traditions: leaving dusty corners, a few dirty plates in the sink, grease on the stove, and many, little things that keep the home running. He may try to escape them, but she won't deny their son the same happiness and joy in it.

Jack was too young to remember his family's faces outside of photos and portraits, but there is a lullaby that follows his dreams, crooning over his head and chasing away his nightmares.

For the longest time, he thought the extra dinner plate was for Oma because it's the same dishes and sweets she once ate, even to this day. Jack was quick to hunt for tidbits about them, and always attributed missing left shoes, misplaced kitchen pens, tipping empty glasses during holidays, and creaking floorboards at night as her mischief. I'm still here, it said. I won't leave.

Jack grew up with the same quilts that consumed him, produce that never spoils (the milk might, but it's easy to make cheese from sour milk), and all the little things that made a house a cozy home.

Much like her own family, June and Jack moved frequently as well. Pests were never a problem for them, nor were mold or leaks. They were strangely lucky in that regard.

The Esquivel home does have Others in their vicinity. It's due to the unknown actions of their youngest member. One day when Raf was far younger and playing hide-and-seek with his siblings and neighborhood kids, Raf came across a pitiful, little creature in a drying puddle.

It flopped and croaked, squirming and clawing at the edges of the barely wet concrete of the patio. Scales flaking in dull, resplendent hues, and its side bleeding a sluggish black ooze. It wasn't a fish. Fish had no arms or torsos, nor had his older brother's books on marine life had anything about fish with two tails. Or fish that scream hard enough to make his nose bleed and cry oily marbles that plink on the ground.

To this day, Raf doesn't know what compelled him to step closer but he did. He saw the strange eyes, blinded and pulsing with veins. Later he'll find out about nictitating membranes, but at the moment it was strange to see how a little, blind not-fish stared back at him, mewling something that skittered across his senses and he tasted blood at the back of his throat.

Mama Esquivel was livid over his son's wet jacket and then concerned when he showed the deep bite on his hand and how his nose continued to bleed.

The birdbath in their backyard does get visitors. Raf rises with the sun to watch strange fish-like creatures splash around the small fountain, singing beautifully to coax birds to eat them whole. His sisters think there's a hawk or an owl nearby that hunting down the smaller birds. Raf knows better. He leaves them lizards and newts, dead rats and mice from traps, and leftover meat and nopales that he can carefully sneak away. Much like corvids, they leave him those oily-slick marbles (pearls), carved sea glass that store whalesong, and beautifully intact shells that contain the noise of a howling tempest and the sea at its most furious.

He knows because they explained it to him. Safety, they said as Raf learns to invoke a flashflood and charm to remain inconspicuous and he understands.

"I wish I knew what you're saying to me," a boy told a small fae that was dropped by a red-tailed hawk, far away from any source of water to return home. Its laughter was the sounds of a babbling brook, the river rushing into the ocean's arms. It asked its savior what was the boon he wished for, and the child unknowingly answered. < Wish granted, little Mudman. > And it savagely bit his hand to share their blood for water touched everything and anything, and who else but the fae could bestow the gift of language of any tongue?

Just because Miko is far from Japan, that doesn't mean she doesn't have something attached to her. And of course, it's a cat.

At first, she thought a feral cat lost a match with a cactus or a porcupine and had recently escaped a trap based on all the pins and dragging tail, but not at all. Much to her amazement, it's fast on its paws. Far more agile and durable, she has seen the creature slash massive cacti and easily jump from the ground to rooftops.

The host family she stays at isn't as boring and straight-laced as she once thought. They do enjoy making homemade brews and other fermented goods. They allow the kids to sample it, but only on the weekends and after a good meal.

She gets a little information from her host family. It's a Catcus Cat - a mythical beast; something that isn't real.

Miko leaves a shallow bowl of her own efforts at making mead and other alcoholic beverages, and the Catcus Cat seems to take a liking to the fruitier and sweet drinks.

The Catcus Cat follows her to the Autobot base. Even when she was riding with Jack and Arcee, she was able to spy the beast racing alongside them in the sand, easily keeping pace.

It allows her to pet it occasionally. Purring as it keeps its spines flat and soft, still prickly but leaving no damage. But it prefers chasing games, so Miko cobbled a fishing rod with pieces of raw meat to play 'Fetch' and got a laser to watch it scramble up solid walls and scale cliffsides.

Unlike the Darby's Kobold and Raf's aquatic visitors, the Catcus Cat had interactions with the Autobots. Particularly Arcee and Bumblebee. They enjoy racing in the high-noon sun and dark empty roads at night. It comes along because very few can truly challenge them. And the Autobots think it's a baseline Earth animal. A charming one, even if its yowls are thundering.

Out of all the Autobots, it's Arcee that figured out something is off. Unlike Miko's inability to hide a new car and the Esquivel's already full garage, Arcee can fit comfortably in the Darby's garage. June even partitioned out an area for the Autobot to transform and scavenged large bean bags and thick body pillows as a makeshift bed.

June often works and Jack is either at Knockout Burger or the base after school, so Arcee has no idea how there are fresh meals, hot and ready on the stove as well as how the Pits her pillow nest is fluffed and straightened when there's no one at home!

Arcee thinks there's some sort of weird intruder in their house that likes being domestic, and it drives her nuts that June and Jack are completely nonchalant over the fact.

She's definitely not happy hearing it's been happening for over a decade, and no she doesn't believe it's the ghost of a dearly departed relative!

[hexedwinchester]

Supernatural S03E03 Bad Day At Black Rock

Gordon, you son of a bitch!

So Sam just found out his bitter father kept his soccer trophy, probably a sweet moment for Sam but Dean just had make his weird "you are girl" joke?

Sam is a total babygirl energy throughout the episode

smart thinking on Dean's part on the lottery tickets

this episode has Final Destination vibes

Bobby: Everybody loses it. C'mon Sam, Bobby knows his shit 🤣

oh wait! Was the 'Friday the 13th' an easter egg for Jared's Clay Miller from the same movie?

okay but Sam Winchester tripping like a toddler is so cute!!!

maybe an unpopular opinion (or even a first, I don't know I haven't seen any comments around it) I actually enjoyed Kubrick and Creedie's weird duo 🤣🤣🤣

Sam derping through his bad luck throughout the second half of the episode is so precious to me

i often think about Sam who literally sat in that chair hours doing nothing because his brother said so and he got in trouble

Dean: I'm Batman. Me: no, Dean you're not. You are John Wick with that pen and remote 🤣🤣🤣

Jared Padalecki breaking character is too cute! I'm glad they kept it 😍

Side note: I'm not a big fan of Bela. She is annoying, selfish and downright horrible person. I don't care what shit happened to her when she was young but she could have chosen to be better, she didn't. Grossman was a better person than she was

This episode kinda is parallel to Sam's S1-5 arc. He starts off with a little good luck with Jess (his rabbit foot), then it starts to go sour after he loses her. Bad things happen like John dies, Sam gets possessed, dies and is brought back. Unknowingly, everything he does leads him to his destiny of being Lucifer's vessel (adversary as Kubrick says) like it does with Gordon's two chuckleheads.. interesting..?

[honey-crypt]

Hi hello there. I just wanna say your writing is really cool and I really enjoy them.

I wanna ask what your favorite Elliott as a supernatural being headcanon is (if you have one) and his relationship with the farmer is like with yanno him being one.

a/n: awww you’re so sweet, tysm! i actually have a supernatural elliott series in progress that you might enjoy :3 anyway, hope you like this!

★ merman!elliott x human!farmer headcanons ★

★ this author is part of the merman!elliott community (but i can also see him as a vampire, which is my second fav supernatural!elliott hc)

★ merman!elliott loves swimming by the beach of pelican town, seeing the humans mill about and conserve sparks his creativity

★ he can’t really write anything because he lives primarily underwater but he’s a very good oralist and often shares his stories with the little merfolk kids

★ accidentally pulls an ariel and falls for you, the newest addition to stardew valley, because of how curious and whimsical you appear to be

★ he’s scared to approach you, though; he’s a merman and you’re a human, you would lose your shit if you saw him

★ however, he gets a chance to meet you when you accidentally fall off the docks and end up in the water

★ there’s no one else around and your leg gets caught on a rock or something so you’re freaking out

★ merman!elliott comes to the rescue and frees your leg, allowing you to swim back to shore

★ at first, you thinks he’s a swimmer passing by but the swish of his long scaly red tail dismisses that notion

★ to elliott’s surprise, you don’t freak out (i mean, you got high with the local wizard and can see/speak to juminos so) and thus an unlikely friendship begins

★ you make a daily or at minimum a weekly trip to the beach to visit elliott, the two of you exchanging stories and chitchat

★ merman!elliott tells you about how he wants to be a writer but given his home, it’s impossible to do so

★ so you have the idea of teaching him to write by bringing a notebook and pen to your visits

★ it takes some time for merman!elliott to learn how to physically write but once he does, he’s writing like a madman with his storytelling

★ and finally, a few months later, he finally gets the courage to ask you out

★ he enlists the wizard’s help and gets a potion of water breathing for you to use, as he tells you that he wants to show you life underneath the ocean

★ you happily do so and merman!elliott shows you little sights that a regular human would never see in their lifetime, such as a shipwreck and some deep sea critters

★ elliott then hands you a small note, obviously wet and easily to tear, but you manage to read its contents

★ it’s a love letter and a confession that he wants to date you (he couldn’t tell you with words because you didn’t have the right vocal chords or ears necessary to communicate underwater)

★ you embrace him and give him a peck on the lips, a sign of reciprocation; homie is OVERJOYED that you like him back

★ however, given that you’re from two completely different worlds, you have to decide if your relationship can survive in your current bodies or if one of you wants to transform into a human/merfolk

★ because of his desire to create and to explore the human world (and to be with you), merman!elliott requests the ability to transform into a human body from the wizard and vice versa for you

★ the wizard obliges and now the both of you have the ability to shift into a human or merfolk form

★ you two help one another adjust to the opposite form, elliott giving you swimming lessons and you giving him walking lessons

★ eventually, things settle down and you two are capable to live life to the best of your abilities, altering from the human world to live the merfolk world

[physalian]

What No One Tells You About Writing 8— “Anyone can write a book”

Yes. But actually no. I say “writing is easy” in that it doesn’t take a degree and textbook learning to understand. You can get an English or lit degree if you want, but writing is incredibly subjective. It’s not even like an art degree that has you study different mediums and historical styles. “Writing is easy” in that it’s about feeling, and instinct, and a little bit of common sense. Anyone can do it in that it doesn’t take financial investment to start. Steal a tchotchke pen and paper from a hotel room—you’ve got all the tools you need. I have a communications degree and 9 years of experience, and I'm about to publish my first supernatural fantasy novel.

Writing is not easy, however, if any of the following applies to you:

You want to make enough money to do this full time

You want to appeal to mass audiences

You want to be a NYT bestseller**** or get an adaptation

You want to be regarded as the best of your generation and fill bookstore shelves

1. It takes a healthy dose of self-awareness and a reality check

 I beta’d for an author who thought that he was comparable to GRRM, the author of A Song of Ice and Fire, because both have adult themes in their book and if GRRM can do it, why can’t he? The sheer vastness of the divide between ASOIAF and this awful, awful manuscript wasn’t worth putting into words for the amount I was being paid, though I tried.

Yes, you can write whatever you want. Yes, you can write to please yourself and stroke your ego. You can write the hammiest wish-fulfillment author insert that you desire. But you can’t expect anyone else to want to read or pay money for it. It’s great to have confidence as an author and envision your success, but starting right off the bat with “everyone will love this book because I’m really smart and I love this book” is only going to leave you bitter and penniless.

2. You might be an expert in your given field, doesn’t automatically make you an expert at storycrafting

I really, truly want the above godawful toe wart of a human (who tried to justify pedophilia in his book with the Israel-Palestine conflict) to stop featuring in my writing advice, but I know he’s not the only person out there who thinks like this. You might have a doctorate in engineering, medicine, political science, chemistry, physics, history, paleontology—any field you want. That does not mean you can successfully translate your expertise into a well-crafted and compelling narrative. It means you can write a college textbook lecturing your readers for 300 pages. Heck, if you can't explain what you do like I'm 5 years old, then you're not an expert in your field.

Elements of good storytelling include well-rounded characters, solid pacing, compelling themes and motifs, an engaging main conflict and character arcs and edge-of-your-seat action, romance, debates, and arguments. It’s so much more than “I’m going to write a textbook, but have my character tell it to you, and everyone will love it”.

They won’t.

3. “I’m gonna be a millionaire like JKR”

The frustrating thing about making money writing is that at the end of the day, you are still selling a product. Which means that it doesn’t matter how amazing you think it is, if it’s not what sells. The Fifty Shades series is hardly a poetic epic with deep, meaningful characters and themes, but it sold. It got adaptations. Why? Because it was a product people wanted and its writing style appeals to mass audiences who aren’t entertained by fluffy, antiquated prose. I hated the Divergent books. They soullessly and shamelessly fed off the success of Hunger Games. But they sold because “teen dystopia HP houses” was what audiences craved and what Hollywood was pushing to make movies out of.

Personally I don’t have any nostalgia for Harry Potter and I both wish I did so I could have one more beloved series and fandom to participate in, but also am glad I don’t because of JKR. HP is chock full of plot holes and “fuck it we’ll do it live” worldbuilding and so many concepts that look cool on paper until you really start thinking about it.

JKR didn’t make a million dollars because she wrote the greatest fantasy series. JKR made a million dollars because she wrote a book that sells every goddamn piece of lore for $15.99 or more and collects on all those sweet, sweet royalties. She understood that she’s selling a product, not just a story, selling everything from Slytherin ties and wizarding robes to golden snitches, sorting hats, wands, chocolate frogs, and every other prop seen in the movies.

You sure can chase trends and I’m sure Divergent is somebody’s favorite book and you can hock chocolate frogs. Everyone’s writing goals are different.

4. “But GRRM did it” (or, adhering to genre expectations)

Circling back to this one. Once again, you can write whatever you want, no one is stopping you. However, books are products and if what’s in the summary and on the cover isn’t what’s on the pages, you’re going to upset and annoy your readers. For example, if I slap a chiseled six-pack of man meat on my book cover with flowy calligraphy for the title that reads something like Sex and Pink Champagne and my summary is all about how protagonist girl gets the adonis of her dreams, you’re not going to be happy if, 200 pages in, the plot detours and Mr. Sexy fucks off to sell NFTs.

It doesn’t meet genre expectations.

GoT kicks off with incest and child defenestration. It tells you *exactly* what you’re getting into immediately. You can subvert plot expectations all you want. You can subvert tropes and archetypes and throw in all kinds of twists and turns. But if you’re writing a YA novel and 100 pages in after campfire songs and the power of friendship, Protagonist gets assaulted in a 7-11 parking lot because you wanted to be ~edgy~ you’re going to piss off your readers.

Take Mulan for example. It has a dramatic tonal shift so powerful, the musical stops being a musical because it’s traumatized. Mulan doesn’t drop in the grizzled and horrifying wasteland of a battlefield with thousands of dead soldiers in an episode of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. It’s already a war movie, the possibility is already there.

If you want to write adult content, then write a book for audiences who are prepared for and want to read adult content. Otherwise you’re setting yourself up for failure.

5. “Okay but it’s not entertaining”

Your first job as an author is to entertain (your second is to do it responsibly imo). There’s millions of books out there—why should someone read yours? Whether that’s entertainment through a feel-good romance or a gut-wrenching tragedy, you need to keep convincing your readers to stay invested in the story, otherwise they can and will put it down to read something else. No one is obligated to read your book to the end.

So, yeah your protagonist might have all the elements of your own personal tragedies and it sure is meaningful to you, but the way you wrote it is incredibly boring and no one will care. It might be the most brilliant heist plot ever conceived, but you focused on all the wrong elements, the pacing is whack, and your protagonist is annoying, so no one will read it.

Very few individual elements can be good enough to carry the entire manuscript and the likelihood of an author being really good at one thing and awful at the rest is slim. Readers can quit a book over the most arbitrary reasons. Do you want to die on a hill of “I’m not changing my annoying protagonist, I’m right and they will see”? They won’t. The arguments authors get into with me over how I hated their protagonist or I told them which parts were boring and dragged because I “didn’t understand the story” are pointless. If it’s boring or confusing or annoying, no one will read it.

6. First Drafts are drafts for a reason

Actually writing is less than half the time and effort spent on getting a book to publication. Probably less than a quarter. The rest of that time is spent editing and rewriting. Some first drafts will be better than others, not arguing that, but your first run through your story has a non-zero chance of needing revisions, even for something as small as typos and punctuation.

You have to edit for pacing and tonal shifts, erroneous details and entire scenes, character inconsistencies and goals. You have to make sure your conversations flow believably, that you hit every talking point that scene requires. You have to make sure your character’s motivations don’t create plot holes and that they’re always on track like a real person and not a creation of your imagination. You have to make sure your action scenes and sex scenes are legible and as thrilling for a reader as they are for you. You have to make sure your worldbuilding is consistent and logical and easy to understand.

Some people outline heavily before starting page one. Some people have a sticky note of “beginning middle end” and run off that. Some have whole folders of different documents to keep track of all their elements. Everyone’s writing process is different, but it is a process, not a one-and-done. It requires revisions, seeking feedback, implementing that feedback, and more revisions until it’s as good as it can be.

Yes, you need to edit. No, you’re not the writing god who penned perfection on your first try. Maybe a piece of your story is perfect on the first draft, but not the whole thing from start to finish. It’s okay that your story isn’t what you thought it would be when you started, and it’s no failing of you as a writer to need edits or even massive changes. It happens to everyone.

7. “Writing is easy, thus it’s not a real job”

Really the notion that creatives are lesser than corporate business people solving problems that their business created. But specifically for writing, the idea that it’s just putting words on a page, thus it’s easy and anyone can do it, so it’s not impressive or deserving of praise and you really need a real job (you probably will because writing doesn’t make much money for most people, but that’s just how it shakes out).

I know ENNS won’t appeal to everyone. I know there will be people who hate my characters, who don’t understand them or don’t agree with their philosophies or find my writing trite and too lean and not ~immersive~. I know there’ll be homophobes out there who won’t even read it but hear about it and make assumptions and will leave me crap reviews. I know it’s not the greatest supernatural fantasy novel ever written.

I’m not in it to make money or get a movie deal and see my merch all over the shelves and get my own theme park. I write so that even one reader might see themselves in my characters and know they’re not alone. So that even one reader has one of my characters as their favorite and that character motivates them to do the Thing or keep moving forward or be brave enough to finally do whatever they’ve been too afraid to attempt before. I want to help people, even if at the end of the day, my writing only helps myself.

Yes I need supplemental income (who doesn’t these days). It’s the way of the world. But I’m doing what I love in my free time and it is a real job because it takes work, and it might not have monetary value but its value to me is priceless.